There are invitations we cannot refuse - can we say they are still invitations? Clouds passing over the face of the mountain. Gaps in the conversation that no longer trouble us the way they once did. Making the bed after, listening to her make tea, remembering our first date in the little arthouse theater in Northampton. Plastic zombies intrude on our attempts to build a new church. Was it always like this?
Dylan's Disease of Conceit. Everything revolves around bodies of water, there is no other way to live. Reading Bly late at night by an open window, a woman whose name I've forgotten sleeping an arm's length away.
Those who are no longer interested in the past.
Severity of the Catholic influence. Out-reading one's father, discovering after all that it wasn't being smarter than him that you wanted. A fine snow fell and I stood in it a few minutes, watching the hills brighten, thinking of what will never come to pass.
Tasting blood, remember those days?
There were rules about shooting guns and the men with whom I lived broadly speaking obeyed them, yet the possibility they would not was never far from my thoughts. What's your excuse?
The light in my daughter shines so brightly sometimes I remember ten thousand years ago touching the sun and falling a long way into a marble sea.
One thing I'd like is no more long goodbyes.